


Five Times

by radiomutt



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 01:55:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13964853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiomutt/pseuds/radiomutt
Summary: The first time was an accident.The second time was an act of revenge.The third time was a declaration of war.The fourth time was difficult to carry out.The fifth time was done so with great intent.





	Five Times

The first time was an accident.

The second time was an act of revenge.

The third time was a declaration of war.

The fourth time was difficult to carry out.

The fifth time was done so with great intent.

 

The first time was an accident, when Bush went calling upon Horatio in his captain’s cabin while he was otherwise occupied. He turned around quickly, both to afford his commanding officer some privacy, and to hide the smile of amusement that had spread itself across his face. Well, it was gratifying to know his captain was as warm blooded and vulnerable to biological needs as the rest of the crew.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Bush announced to the sound of Horatio cursing and crashing to pull on his trousers, “Mr. Prowse’s compliments, and you’re needed on de-”

“Yes!  _ Thank you _ , Mr. Bush!” Horatio snapped, and when he appeared at Bush’s side, his face was stormy, his clothes a mess (but on), and Bush had mostly managed to stop himself from laughing - but not smiling, to Horatio’s absolute annoyance.

 

The second time was an act of revenge, when Bush grasped at a rare moment of solitude in the ward room. Horatio crept in, quiet as a mouse, and hovered behind the curtain to his bunk, listening to the hoarse groans of his first lieutenant to make certain he had him. He snapped back the curtain, announcing that he wished to see Bush in his cabin shortly, and while he hadn’t meant to see anything but the look of panic on Bush’s face, his eyes dropped southward on their own curiosity. Bush was cursing up a storm in a familiar fashion, damning Horatio’s eyes and every other part of him while he flipped out of his bunk. Horatio locked eyes with the wall, grinning openly, and gave Bush five minutes grace to prepare himself to present, before turning and marching out of the room.

Images of dark red, slicked and shiny, kept lingering in his mind for days.

 

The third time was a declaration of war by Bush, and when he burst into Horatio’s cabin, this time he didn’t turn around, but remained, eyes locked with his commanding officer, speaking in casual, cheerful tones. It was either the best or the poorest timing possible, for Bush had waited at the last possible moment to make certain Horatio was fully absorbed in his task before entering with a sharp knock, and arrived shortly before Horatio had reached climax. Unable to stop his own momentum in time, Horatio cut into Bush’s cheerful litany with a startled moan, knocking the other man off his feet. His eyes had been glued to Horatio’s face in challenge, so he had caught every crease and contortion of his face caught in pleasure, and saw it blow up a dark red.

“Get out, damn you!” Horatio wailed, and Bush, slightly guilty over his timing, but far more guilty over the dark thrill he’d discovered he’d felt at witnessing Horatio’s moment of pleasure, hastily obeyed. 

 

The fourth time was difficult to carry out, for cautiousness over a counterattack, and the basic lack of privacy on a small, cramped sloop, meant that Bush had to find small, dark, out of the way places to tuck himself away. He’d probably have simply tried to abstain, and throw himself into his duties, but in the dark, he remembered that face, and his hand always crept downward on its own.

He was below decks, in the kind of place one went to in order to do dirty, shameful things where others wouldn’t disturb you. Back against the wall, hand grasping himself, head rolled back, he moaned under his breath and recalled images of a slender body curled in the rapture of release. His mind delved further, imagining limbs contorted, a body squirming beneath him, dark eyes staring at him, tearful but desperate. Soft lips parted, moans spilling out-

“Mr. Bush, there you are. I have been looking for you.”

Horatio’s voice was startlingly close, and Bush’s eyes snapped open to find the man standing right in front of him. There was no room to even lunge for his trousers, without headbutting Horatio in the process, and Bush was trapped against the wall as Horatio stepped up against him, until he was close enough for Bush to grab him and pin him to the wall, tearing at the stiff white collar of his vest and ravaging his neck-

“Yes, sir?” Bush replied, in as calm a manner as he could muster, rising to the challenge and matching Horatio’s gaze.

“On deck, if you please, Mr. Bush.” Horatio finally said, the corner of his mouth curling. He took a step back, his thigh just happening to grind against Bush’s situation in the process, eliciting an incriminating gasp from the man. He squeezed his eyes shut, cheeks turning a soft shade of red, and listened to Horatio’s footsteps fade.

 

The fifth time was done so with great intent, Bush stalking into his commanding officer’s room and dutifully shutting the door behind him. He rapidly canted off some weak excuse for being there, eyes locked with Horatio’s, daring him to call him out on it. Horatio, ever competitive, met Bush’s gaze, his trousers still around his ankles, reclining in his bunk.

“Thank you, Mr. Bush. Will that be all?” He asked softly, challenging. Bush raked his eyes down the length of his body, the worrying part of him, ever concerned, noted how thin his commander was looking and considered perhaps spending the next few nights eating with him to make sure he finished off his food properly. A louder, more hungry part of him noted how red and swollen he was, how lovely his legs looked spread open like an invitation, the way his pale skin was painted with the most delicate shade of pink. “Mr. Bush?”

“Unless there was something, perhaps, you wished from me, sir.” Bush returned, hands linked behind his back. He was the commanding officer, after all. Better to leave the decision making to him.

Horatio slowly sat up, sliding one hand down his leg thoughtfully. He wasn’t moving to cover himself, and seemed to be openly teasing Bush with the view. His eyes danced, and at least he gave a small smile. 

“I would appreciate your assistance in a small matter, if you would, Mr. Bush.” He said, and Bush cautiously locked the door before crossing the room, trying not to show too much eagerness in his face. Horatio stopped him just short of his bunk, hands tugging at the strings of his trousers. Bush blushed, staring down at the image of his commanding officer undressing him, half naked himself. As soon as he was free of restraint, he almost fell on top of Horatio, grasping his cock and giving it a squeeze that tugged a cry from the young man’s lips.

“M-Mr. Bush!” Horatio had been completely taken by surprise, not expecting the man to act so quickly. He had severely underestimated just how much Bush wanted him moaning. He pressed their cocks up flush against each other, grasping both of them in one large, callused hand, and gave a swift stroke. With his other hand, he gripped Horatio’s hip, keeping him in place and fully at his mercy.

“I will always assist you in whatever you need with my full enthusiasm, sir.” Bush rasped, rolling his hips into his hand. Between the smooth, slick skin of Horatio’s dick and the roughness of his palm, the friction quickly had the both of them leaking pre-cum, slicking up each thrust. Horatio clung to the lapels of Bush’s coat, merely nodding and calling out weak encouragements. He looked perfect on his back underneath Bush, but still, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to spread Horatio’s legs open and thrust inside him, to fuck him like a whore and have him moaning and writhing in pleasure, desperate to be tainted by sin and desire and shame. He wanted to see the creeping blush spreading over his naked body, to bury a fist in his hair and drag back his head, expose the graceful curve of his neck and bite at the flesh. Bruise it, leave it marked by him, like claimed territory. He wanted to see that gaunt face moaning in bliss at being ploughed, he wanted to hear Horatio beg him for release, to have the lad pliant and desperately at his mercy. Perhaps Bush would flip him over, fuck him on all fours, press his face into the blankets to drown out the delectable cries he’d be making. Would it be better to cum inside Horatio, to fill each spare space with his scent and his filth, or would it be better to coat his flushed and writhing body in cum?

Bush’s hand moved furiously, spurred on by the fantasies invading his mind, and Horatio howled beneath him, eyes squeezed shut as he came. He collapsed into the bed, struggling to catch his breath with heavy, ragged pants. Bush stared at his hand, coated in both their cum, unsure at first what to do, but deciding best clean up quickly. He quickly washed at the basin in the captain’s private wash room, while Horatio seemed disinclined to get up, enjoying the haze of a perfect orgasm. Carrying a washcloth over, he avoided his captain’s gaze while he wiped him down, until Horatio snapped his wrist.

“Help me dress, Mr. Bush?”

Bush swallowed, and put on an obedient smile. He helped Horatio slide back into his clothes, even going so far as to button his vest for him, fingers trembling through the action. Horatio seemed amused at his nervousness, eventually catching the taller man’s eye, looking at him sternly.

“Flip me onto all fours, was it?” He mumbled, and Bush realised with horror that he’d been saying everything aloud. He moved to explain himself, but Horatio cut him off, murmuring in his ear, “Or perhaps bend me over the desk and fuck me from behind.”

“Perhaps that instead, sir.” Bush choked out, staring at the ceiling.

Horatio was silent for a moment, and then finally, in impatience, demanded, “Well are you going to kiss me, man, or am I just a cheap whore after all?”

Bush’s head snapped down, shocked, but needed no further invitation. He quickly snagged Horatio around the waist, dragging him forward and burying his mouth against his, kissing him with a hunger he wasn’t even aware he felt until at last he could feed it. Horatio almost collapsed beneath him, throwing his arms around Bush’s shoulders to steady himself.

“Oh.” He breathed, when Bush broke the kiss.

“Nothing cheap about you, sir.”

There was a knock at the door.

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO! I don't usually do this because it feels baity but I'm very flattered and tickled pink by the trickle of kudos, so if I hit 30 kudos on this (arbitrarily chosen 30 because that is my birth date) I will write a possible chapter 2 or just another Hotspur Husbands fic if someone gives a prompt. Thank you again to everyone who read this little story, to those who gave kudos, or those who didn't but still enjoyed it, and much love to everyone part of this tiny, quiet little fandom.


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